


Willing, Undone

by crossedlines



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossedlines/pseuds/crossedlines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the wedding to Harrold Hardyng, Alayne and Father are Sansa and Petyr once again - but it is Littlefinger’s plan that comes to fruition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willing, Undone

It was Alayne Stone who put the gown on, but Sansa Stark who took it off. Although she knew what she was about to do, it wasn’t until after the ceremony, her bridal netting removed and her hair – red once more – tumbled down over Harrold’s cloak, that Sansa felt herself return.

 _I am Sansa Stark,_ she had said to the assembled crowd. _I am Sansa Stark,_ she repeated to herself. Past the shocked faces, through the murmurs that grew into cheers. _I am Sansa Stark._ As the drinking and dancing and singing picked up. _I am Sansa Stark._ She wished she could say it aloud again and again, to feel the words with her tongue, push them past her teeth, set them free.

She hardly saw him during the merriment. He was soon consumed by a crowd of knights and lords, first with cries of disbelief, then, without much delay, with oaths of fealty. With pledges of men and swords. With talk of vengeance and war.

In the confusion and delirium, the reason for their gathering was quickly forgotten, and all wedding traditions set aside in favour of strategy and politics. Slipping free of her own crowd of admirers, Sansa found her husband; touching his arm softly, she led him out of the room without fanfare.

Harrold was drunk of course; on the way to her chambers, he bent down to put his nose in her hair, mumbling her name. _You are Sansa Stark_. He giggled. You _are Sansa Stark!_

The bedding was brief – Harrold’s blind enthusiasm meant Sansa had little need to hide her grimaces or to play-act at pleasure. He fell asleep in less time than he had been inside her.

Laying on her back (a position she had not moved from since the moment Harrold had roared her true name and tossed her on the bed) Sansa took in one slow, deep breath. She closed her eyes, releasing it through her mouth and letting her body go slack.

The moment had hardly passed when she slipped out of bed with barely a thought as to why. Quietly, she cleaned herself with the chilly water from the basin, wrapping herself in a thick robe and pulling on her boots. She left her chambers, shutting the door softly behind her. She could hear the last strains of revelry echo from deep in the Eerie, but her hallway was dark and silent. No matter, Sansa – or was it Alayne? – knew the way by heart.

Smoothly, she made her way to his door. There, she paused, hand half-raised. Should she knock? Alayne never knocked. But things had changed now. Did Sansa knock?

Something deep inside her twisted and flipped and fluttered. She caught her breath. Things had changed now. Things left buried, hidden, unthought were coming to the surface. From the moment she met him in King’s Landing so many years ago, she had felt that deep twisting and flipping and fluttering. She used to think it was fear. She used to think it was only fear.

Sansa pushed the door open. He was sitting at his desk, his back towards her. She entered, closing the door behind her.

Bolting the door behind her.

He turned in his chair, already knowing it was her. Leaning back, he crossed one leg over the other. He nodded to her, pride on his face. The same pride he had worn when she had revealed herself. _I am Sansa Stark._

No, not the same pride. Not entirely.

It suddenly occurred to her that she did not know why she had come. It suddenly occurred to her that she was still lying to herself.

Sansa swallowed. “Petyr.”

He was on his feet, then, and immediately in front of her. Sansa met his gaze, now the most difficult thing in the world. She could always look Father in the eye. _Alayne_ could always look _Father_ in the eye. Sansa could feel the weight of her robe across her shoulders, a rough spot in her boots rubbing her bare ankle. She could feel the cold of the room. She could feel him see inside her.

She could feel him waiting.

Slowly, Sansa placed her hands on his shoulders. Slowly, she placed her lips against his.

She kissed him gently, but firmly. She let herself linger. He stayed in place, giving little. She thought of the first time he kissed her, in the snow. How she had stayed still, eyes closed, for a moment too long before pushing him away. Was that Sansa? She couldn’t remember anymore. If it was, it was some old Sansa. Before the cocoon of Alayne Stone. Before she revealed her wings.

She pulled away, ending the kiss. He stared. She held.

“Sansa,” he smiled. Or smirked? Or...? He was kissing her before she could decipher which expression he wore. Whose expression he wore.

Petyr’s hands were on her face, her waist, in her hair, running across her back. She gripped his tunic, pushing herself into him, embracing the twisting and flipping and fluttering. Feeding it.

Gasping, they parted. Sansa looked down, away. _I am Sansa Stark._

She stepped back, capturing his right hand in her left. Letting his gaze capture hers again. She led him to the bed.

He undressed her first with his hands, then with his mouth. He kissed her everywhere. He worshipped her. He worshipped Sansa Stark.

She lay down, seductively propped up on her side. He joined her, shrugging off his tunic and removing his boots and breeches. She found the tie on his silk undergarment and pulled. He tried to stop her, but she pushed him into the pillows. Pushed aside the fabric. Looked at that reminder of her family across his chest.

Sansa ran one finger down the scar, and his mouth twitched. She kissed it, not breaking his gaze. He was unreadable.

She kissed the scar all the way down... and then took him in her mouth. She had squealed in disgust when Myrandar told her about this technique. But now, she craved it. She craved _him_.

Petyr gasped, and Sansa delighted in breaking his façade. He ran his fingers through her hair, but soon touched her shoulders, guiding her back up to his face.

Wrapping his arms around her, he switched their positions, and kissed her deeply. She pulled herself against him, pressing her bare breasts to his chest, and opening her legs.

His hand slipped between those legs, and Sansa gasped as his fingers found her centre. As he stroked her, she felt her body tighten, felt the build-up begin. It felt different from when she was by herself, even though she would often think of... of...

Sansa remembered those thoughts, the ones that would come to her late at night. The ones that would prompt her to touch herself the way Petyr touched her now. The thoughts she immediately pushed aside once the wave had crested. Those thoughts were Sansa. Those thoughts were always there. Those thoughts brought her to this room tonight.

Petyr pulled his hand away, and Sansa softly moaned her displeasure. He grinned, kissing her briefly and shifting his position. Taking himself in hand, he slid his hard length across her wetness.

She spread her legs again, pushing herself against him. He made no move. They stared one another down once again, and it was then that she knew.

Littlefinger looked at her archly, aroused but entirely in control. Sansa released the breath she had been holding. Her seduction, what she thought of as _her_ seduction, was his design. She had pushed him away in the snow but he had made her come back to him. Made her want him. Made her.

His breath heavy, he waited. Sansa closed her eyes. Things had changed. Nothing had changed. “Please,” she whispered.

He drove himself into her, and she moaned, wrapping her arms and legs around him, kissing him fiercely.

Sansa Stark had surrendered.


End file.
